


The Visions of Alternate Realities Device

by WeCanDance



Category: Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Realities, Angst, M/M, Obsession, Pining, Regret, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:02:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23977891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeCanDance/pseuds/WeCanDance
Summary: After years of loneliness turned into obsession, Black Hat turns on one of Dr. Flug's devices to peer into alternate realities.He finds one in which his precious scientist is still alive.
Relationships: Black Hat/Dr. Flug (Villainous)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 171





	1. Window

The screen in the strange device on Black Hat’s desk showed a different reality. One that he had been watching for three straight days. One that he craved.

One in which Dr. Flug was still alive. 

In this reality, Black Hat sat with his tie hung loosely on his neck, jacket swung over the back of his chair, fingers steepled in front of his face, huffing. He hadn't seen any reason to continue his routine of keeping his appearance sharp for clients, as there had been hardly any. Two had left messages for him, but he was occupied with gazing into his "Visions of Alternate Realities Device," or Vard. The demon had flipped through hundreds of "channels" on the laptop-shaped machine to peer into different realities, until one caught his attention so fully that he couldn't look away: Reality MD-11.

The Vard is unique in that it recognizes a cosmic signature of the user and shows them the perspective of their own analogue in a random other universe, one that had diverged from the user's on the day it was activated. As Black Hat had tapped into Reality MD-11, the demon was seeing in his screen through the eyes of another Black Hat, who appeared to be opening a great mahogany door to the ballroom. He stopped in front of a mirror, turning his torso to inspect the sides and back of his tailcoat, straightening his cuffs. Ruby cuff-links, buttons, and pocket square, glinting in the light. Sparkling grin. The alternate Black Hat turned and walked away, heels clacking on the floor, toward his record collection on the other side of the room. Gently, he sorted through the records. 

Heat rose in the veins of this-reality's Black Hat. This machine was bringing him nothing but jealousy and regret. He knew it would ever since the day Flug brought it to him.

> The scientist had practically pranced into the demon’s office — after being called in, of course — saying that he had made “something incredible.” As Black Hat turned in his chair, motioning for Flug to show him, Flug had placed it on his desk and excitedly explained the interface and the potential applications for both Black Hat and his clients. Using this, you can see all the different ways things could have gone, given different actions.
> 
> Black Hat had scrolled through several dozen alternate universes. Apparently, all his counterparts were all looking at their own Vards. He couldn’t see much except another desk with another screen, showing another desk with another screen, on and on.
> 
> “This is useless,” Black Hat had sneered.
> 
> Flug’s shoulders fell, just a little. “No, sorry, it’s not showing much yet,” he explained, gesturing emphatically. “It takes time from the point of creation for each timeline to diverge. As more things change, the clearer the differences!” 
> 
> Black Hat bristled. He had never seen anything so existentially terrifying as being able to see all the different ways things _could_ have been. And not terrifying in a good way.
> 
> Black Hat had also never seen anything so _brilliant_. 
> 
> He almost had told Flug how incredible his device was, offered some validation. To praise or threaten, he was compelled in both directions. Carrot or the stick? It was as though he was balancing on the edge of a knife, battling with his conflicting urges to dominate and support the scientist. A single photon could knock him between one reaction and another. Such was the duality of their relationship. Black Hat had imagined for a moment that he would touch the small of Flug's back, pull him closer, and whisper softly, "It's a start, Darling." Assuring him, in his way, that acceptance from the demon was just over the horizon, offering him a taste of sweetness. So he would know that his work meant something. That the time they spent together was important to Black Hat.
> 
> But Black Hat had to keep the scientist in line; Flug could never believe that he had successfully impressed the boss. Flug worked so hard because he was scared not to; giving the scientist what he wanted would make him think he could relax and stop producing. Furthermore, Black Hat knew that this device was going to be his downfall; he could not let Flug leave the office unscathed. 
> 
> "Doctor," he rumbled lowly, and the scientist leaned forward in anticipation. "Pray tell, does this device allow you to travel back in time?"
> 
> Flug laughed nervously. "No, sir, I've looked into time travel extensively and I'm quite certain it's impossible."
> 
> "And you've spent the last two weeks on this." The monster stood from his desk, pushing the chair backward, and walked slowly to the other side, casually growing taller. Flug took a step back, eyes flashing between his invention and his boss. 
> 
> "And you believe," Black Hat continued, "that there is _any_ value to this? When you can't _use it to change anything?_ " 
> 
> Flug raised his hands and moved his body between his boss and the device. "Well, you s-see," he began. "Some of these inventions are more for preliminary research, intel gathering —" 
> 
> Black Hat grew taller and raised his clawed hands as they grew larger. "This is not a _research_ company, you imbecile!" He drew back a hand and dealt a blow so hard that he could hear Flug's jaw shattering, launching the scientist halfway across the room. The monster grew extra arms and teeth as his voice boomed a promise to destroy the worthless technology Flug had made, chasing him down the hall. 

Today, Black Hat grinds his sharp teeth at the memory. The regret, the sounds of terror coming from the man who wanted nothing but to please him. That was a decade ago. Nothing could be one about it now. Besides, the demon had made up for it the next morning, coming to his room with plane-shaped pancakes 505 had prepared. Black Hat had sat down beside the scientist, took his chin gently in his claws, gazed into his eyes, and pulsed healing magic through his fingertips to mend the broken bones. 

He didn’t apologize, but Flug must have _known_ that he was sorry. Right? 

Black Hat’s attention snapped back to the screen, where something was happening in the MD-11 universe. In it he saw Flug’s masked face, and his shoulders were bouncing in laughter. He was wearing a tailcoat that matched his partner's, only in grey and with blue accents. A pair of arms came into view, dark suit, dark gloves, taking the virtual doctor’s hand. The hands reached above Flug and spun him in tune with the soft ballroom music playing, then pulled him into the avatar’s chest. The doctor was clearly unpracticed but was loose and rhythmic and _giddy_ in his response. 

How is this possible? As this-universe's Black Hat recalled,Flug didn’t even _like_ music. 

For a brief moment, Black Hat's traitorous brain forgot the permanence of death and pondered whether this meant he and Demencia could successfully teach Flug to enjoy the musical arts. How he would love to teach the doctor one of the few things he didn't know already...to watch him react to smooth woodwinds and triumphant brass...to catch him if he fell...to touch him...

The alternate reality couple pulled apart, still hand-in-hand, looking eye-to-eye. This-Universe Black Hat raised his antennae, and something surged in him. Through the dark of the goggles he could see something familiar. The look. _The look!_

That look that he had only seen a handful times, and only for an instant out of the corner of his eye, by his own Flug. Alternate-Flug was giving this look freely, deeply, and at length. Black Hat basked in the glow of devotion, devoid of fear, nursing every moment. From the perspective of This-Universe Black Hat, watching through the eyes of another, he believed the look was for him. 

But it was not for him. 

It was for a version of him that had diverged 10 years ago. 

The look was for someone who acted selflessly enough that Flug was alive to give it.


	2. Pane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demencia lament's Black Hat's obsession, but helps him see into a particular alternate reality anyway. One in which Black Hat doesn't exist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter because you said you wanted one!

“Guapo!” 

A feminine voice and a knock on the other side of Black Hat’s door interrupted him. The demon lowered his right hand, clutching a bronze sconce, drywall falling off the end where he had wrested it off the wall. On the ground, shattered glass from the window he had smashed, curtains torn from their rods. Priceless volumes of ancient books ripped from their shelving. 

His desk, though, and his machine, had been carefully spared. Although his feralistic rages appeared senseless, Black Hat had more control than he knew regarding what he did and didn’t damage.

He placed the sconce on one of the now-empty shelves and straightened his tie. He righted the chair he had thrown over and sat at his desk, scooting in. “Come in,” he called. 

Before he even finished the command, Demencia pranced in. Her green hair was as long and bright as always, but her outfit had updated with the times: at 26, now she wore primarily black leather, in the form of a jacket and combat boots, paired with a bright green jumpsuit. She had likely just come from the BHO combat training program she was leading. The hybrid’s left hand was in her pocket, toying with something that she started to pull out before noticing the detritus of Black Hat’s rampage. She squinted and slid the object back into her coat.

“What happened?” 

Black Hat leaned back in his chair as Demencia approached his desk and stopped half a foot away. The demon placed one claw on the bottom corner of his Vard and rotated the screen to her, then crossed his arms. “This idiotic, useless device doesn’t work.” 

The lizard girl cocked an eyebrow. “So stop using it.”

Black Hat leaned forward and gestured emphatically at her. “Shut up and fix it!” 

Dem quickly crouched over the desk and brought the device closer. She was somewhat familiar as to how it worked, as her boss had been nothing short of obsessed with it for the last six months. On the top of the screen showed the coordinates of the reality into which Black Hat had switched channels, labeled F-111. However, the screen was static and there was a green message that read “Error: Analogue not found.” 

Dem stuck out her tongue in concentration and tapped on a translucent half-sphere on the right side of the keypad, offering her cosmic signature to see if it would work for her. Immediately, the screen lit up with a message saying “Analogue Found.” She looked down at the perspective of the F-111 version of herself, painting her fingernails black with her feet up on Black Hat’s desk.

“It works for me,” she told her boss, continuing to watch the analogue. 

Black Hat scrambled to the other side of the table and grabbed the sides of the device, facing the screen to him. “How?!” 

“It says your analogue wasn’t found, but mine was. Presumably you don’t exist in that reality and I do.” 

“WHAT?!” Black Hat snapped, pulling upright. “This only diverged from our reality eleven years ago, things can’t be that different!” 

“There are infinite universes, Bonbon.” 

“Not to this thing. The Vard can only tap into four thousand, eight hundred.” 

“Then change the channel!” 

Black Hat exhaled dramatically — not that he actually needed to breathe — and returned to his seat. He put his elbows on the table and put one hand over his other fist, bringing his hands to his mouth. “No. I want you to take this and find out why I don’t exist in that universe. Find out everything you can about that Flug, too.”

They both sat in silence for a moment. Black Hat was comfortable with that, as he thought about what it could mean that he had somehow ceased to exist in another dimension. And, if the F-111 Flug was still alive, he was going through. 

Oh, a Flug without a Black Hat...what a tragedy. How would he get on with no one to guide him, to care for him, to protect and direct and control him? With no one to fully dedicate himself to? The F-111 Flug must be completely at his wit’s end. Oh, how aimless and sad this alternative scientist must be. 

The demon mused for several minutes before he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, with his employee standing slightly behind him. 

“Bonbon?” Demencia offered softly.

The demon simply shifted his gaze to her without turning his head. 

“Do you think he might have wanted you to move on?”

Black Hat huffed. “To  _ whom,  _ Lizard? I’ve met hundreds of mad scientists in my years and there is  _ no one _ else like him. No one as endlessly talented in all scientific fields, yet inextricably dedicated to me and me alone. No one who could so easily mislead an enemy with a facade of helplessness, only to have the key to their doom in his pocket. No one who could…” 

He pressed his lips together, put his palms flat on the desk, and turned slightly to look into the woman’s eyes. She looked back at him quietly, nodding lightly for him to go on. 

“...could make me...feel like…” 

Demencia rubbed her thumb on his shoulder in soft circles. 

“I miss him too.” 

Black Hat raised his hands and rested his temple against his fists. “You’ll never understand the way I feel. You don’t know what we had. You didn’t  _ kill him _ .”

Demencia bit her lip. Everything about the exchange hurt. The rejection. The hopelessness in her love’s voice. The true, deep, and especially  _ mad _ relationship the two men had, boiling up jealousy in her gut. And, although she had made the argument many times that Black Hat didn’t technically, intentionally  _ murder _ Flug, she resented her boss for a long time for his role. The media had speculated on homicide, an accusation that Black Hat didn’t deny. The public probably wouldn’t have believed that a skinny 31-year-old could have died of a heart attack anyway.

So what now? Flug was dead. Dead and buried. And un-buried, bones kept in a locked gold box on Black Hat’s shelf. Anyway, there was nothing to be done about it now; all attempts at both scientific and magical resurrection had proven impossible. Now, Bonbon was obsessed and in pain, and Demencia had to help. 

“Honey, the Vard isn’t going to change anything.” 

Black Hat huffed and lowered his hands, then rotated the chair to face her. “It’s not supposed to directly change anything. I’m supposed to learn from it. It’s called preliminary research. Look it up.”

“Ok, what have you learned?” 

Black Hat was ready for this question, and even considered pulling out his notes on the subject. “In the realities where Flug is alive, the difference is that my analogue there listened to him. And, the more the Black Hat listens, the happier the Flug. That’s what I should have done. If he was here again I would give him anything he asked for. I would stop any time he said to. I would take any fear seriously, I would protect him from anything. I would _do_ _anything._ ”

Demencia conceded with a small smile. She  _ had  _ told Black Hat to take Flug seriously when he said he needed his medicine. It’s true that things might have been different if Black Hat had listened.

“That’s why I need you to come back with a report on Reality F-111.” 

Dem stood straight and folded the device, tucking it into her left arm, readying to take it to her room and watch as she lifted weights. As her hand touched her side, she felt something in her pocket. 

“Oh, I forgot,” she chimed. “I almost didn’t bring this because I know you have an unhealthy obsession with Flug’s old things.” Out of her pocket she produced a silver and gold sphere, just larger than a golf ball, and laid it in Black Hat’s outstretched hand. He shook it beside his face to listen at something clattering inside.

“I found it in a false bottom of one of the drawers in the lab. It’s some sort of Chinese puzzle box, but I took it to Puzzl-O and she couldn’t crack it. I don’t think it’s possible — oh, you broke it.”

Black Hat maintained eye contact as the shattered pieces of the puzzle box fell through the fingers of his clenched hands. 

Then he opened his palm again as the two bent over to see the small, silver object that was inside. They both recognized it immediately. Demencia groaned. 

“God damn it,” she cursed.


	3. Doorway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Black Hat obsesses over what Flug left behind and finds something that will change everything.

With shaking hands, Black Hat inserted the key into the hole for another storage locker, holding his breath in hope this would be the right one. 

With the lock in one hand and key in another, he turned his wrist, silently asking for Lady Luck to let him hear the click of success.

The key caught and stopped. No satisfying ‘click,’ just another dud locker filled with some useless client’s detritus.

He barked in frustration, pulled out his precious item, and turned with a _whoosh_ of his coattails. 

Black Hat Organization owned and maintained about 1,500 units of storage lockers, each with their own small, silver key. Surely, the dark creature could use brute force to break into any unit he wanted. But he didn’t _want_ to see the inside of all of them. He wanted the one that matched the key he had retrieved from the Chinese puzzle box Flug had left behind, and he had to know which one it was. When he and Dem first saw the key, they instantly knew it was for a storage locker, based on the custom BHO design on the head. Dem also instantly knew her boss would try to find the unit immediately.

He tried the next unit in the row. Hold lock, insert key, twist. No result. Curse, pull key, try the next. Over and over, as it had been for days. 

“You already have plenty of his crap,” Demencia had argued before he left the manor on his quest. She wasn’t wrong; Black Hat had _all_ of the late scientist’s crap, revered like precious treasure. The demon had insisted that Flug’s room be kept exactly the way it was when he died; no one was allowed in except Black Hat himself. He would spend days poring over the scientist’s old notebooks, not only because of their nearly endless numbers and details, but because of Flug’s chicken scratch handwriting.

Another storage unit. Another hopeful wrist-turn. Another unyielding lock. Black hat threw the lock against the unit with a loud _clang_ and continued. 

Other items from around the house were kept neatly in what Black Hat refused to call a series of shrines. The plane collection stayed intact on its shelving behind a sheet of glass Black had installed. A framed photo and old goggles rested on the demon’s desk. One stormy night he even ran to the grave, unmarked under a black and gnarled old oak, in a frenzy. The creature tore up the wet mud with spade-like claws, and threw off the casket lid. What was left of Flug’s body had fallen into disarray, the maggots had pupated and flown away, and there was little left but flattened, faded clothing and scattered and disarticulated bones. A skull in a paper bag. 

He had picked up the bones, one by one, trying not to miss any of the tiny carpals; he cursed that he should have waited for the rain to stop to pursue his mad quest, shoving them into a makeshift rucksack he had fashioned out of his own coat. When he got them inside, he dumped them on the floor and kneaded his fingers through them like a cat on a blanket. He picked up a half a rib and balanced it on his fingers, inspecting it. These bones were so light. Almost all of the scientist was gone, devoured by the elements and time. A coatful of exhumed feather-light rods of collagen and calcium, no longer fortifying the body that held the greatest scientific brain of our time, hardly meant anything anymore. 

But they meant _something,_ and every wayward object Flug once touched held a memory or story. Every blue T-shirt, torn wherever Black Hat got frisky. Every empty medication bottle tossed in a panic on his floor. Every blueprint for inventions that were meant to be made, but now never would be. Every bone, over which the demon would run his fingers, feeling the lumpy, porous lines that ran through the mandible where it had broken and healed. 

Another key turn. Black Hat’s mind had wandered so deeply into the past that he hardly registered his task. 

But then the key clicked. 

Black Hat’s heart could have leapt out of his chest, if his heart was prone to misbehaving when faced with extreme emotion. That was more of a human thing, as the demon knew all too well. With the key confirming that this was, in fact, Flug’s locker, Black Hat threw the opened lock on the ground and slammed the door open. 

Inside it was dark, and Black Hat waited for his eye to adjust. The silence engulfed him as he passed the threshold into the unit. He started seeing the sparse contents: an outlet, a file box, and some sort of large silver machine. That was it.

Black Hat approached the device, trembling in anticipation, dozens of questions flooding his mind. He ran his fingers over every edge, inspecting them and gathering dust on his gloves. The machine stood about eight feet tall, composed of two thick metal bars standing parallel then bending and joining in a point at the top like half a canoe protruding from the ground. Attached were green glass baubles and a tablet screen. On the top of the tablet four letters were engraved: PARD. 

“Pard?” Could that be related to the Vard? Black Hat blew the dust off the attached cord and plugged the machine into the wall outlet. For a moment, it did nothing. Then, with a white flash, it blinked and sputtered to life. With his hands folded behind his back, Black Hat went to investigate the screen: there was nothing but two keypads, one for letters and one for numbers. Black Hat groaned. He would never figure out how to use this thing, hell, he didn’t even know what it _was._ If only he had a manual. 

With that thought, Black Hat’s antennae perked and he turned instantly to the file box. Crouching beside it, he rifled through the old, yellowed paper, finding most of the documents regarded care of 505. As he neared the end, he worried that he would have come all this way just for a bum device that he would never figure out how to use, and neither would anyone else. No sentimental mug, no photographs or clothing with just the faintest lingering of scent. 

But then, his fingers ran over a thick document, and he pulled it out to reveal a green user’s manual. On the cover, these words: 

Dr. Kenning Flugslys of Black Hat Organization presents

The Complete User’s Manual for the “P.A.R.D.” or

“Passage to Alternate Realities Device”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you guess what will happen next?
> 
> There was a scene in the shorts where the narrator said he couldn't read Flug's "Doctor's handwriting" but then like two days ago Penumbra posted a very legible handwritten note from him. So IDK, let's say his notebooks are chickenscratch.


	4. Hallway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Black Hat travels to a new dimension and finds more questions than answers.

> It was three hours before sunrise and Flug shouldn’t have been awake, but Black Hat could tell from the pattern of breathing on the form in front of him, facing away, that the scientist wasn’t sleeping. This was a rare observation; Black Hat rarely listened, but he was always watching.
> 
> On the red sheets on the grand bed Black Hat had installed specifically for nights like this, Black Hat and Flug lay on their sides, facing the doorway. Their curled poses would have been spooning if they were a foot closer, lounging just their boxers and respective hats and masks. Black Hat reached out with a claw, touching it ever-so-gently to Flug’s bare shoulder. The scientist flinched a little, but Black Hat continued, drawing it slowly down his pale arm, over his ribcage, down to the dip of his skinny waist, and up over his bony hip. Then he started again, feeling the goosebumps he had left in his wake. 
> 
> After a third stroke, he scooted forward, wrapped his one arm around his partner’s chest and squeezed the other arm under him, so he could pull the scientist into his own chest. Black Hat brought his face to rest on the crook of Flug’s neck and shoulder, breathing in his scent.
> 
> This vision was a precious jewel to Black Hat, who would replay it over and over in his head at night. He would always stop playing it at the warm, human scent, then start again. But, as time and space warped around him, in the stream outside of reality, as the current warped his mind like putty, it was as though he couldn’t stop what he was seeing. It was, after all, a memory, and not a dream. 
> 
> That morning, as he spooned tightly with his lover, he felt Flug’s heartbeat under his palms. Occasionally the pattern became inconsistent, or pumped in more of a _whoosh_ than a thud.
> 
> After a few minutes, Flug peeled the arms from around him and sat up, facing his boss. Black Hat sat up as well in response. 
> 
> “Jefe, can--can I talk to you about something?” 
> 
> “Of course, Mi corazón,” Black purred, grinning lustfully. 
> 
> Flug wrung his hands together and looked down at them in his lap. “I’m really scared.” 
> 
> Black Hat’s eyes narrowed. “This doesn’t sound like bedroom talk.” 
> 
> Flug stopped fidgeting and looked at his boss in the eye. 
> 
> “It’s--it’s not supposed to be sexy. I’m talking about the very real possibility that I could lose my life. And how I’m terrified.” 
> 
> “You know I don’t understand these things!” Black Hat growled, crossing his arms. “I’m not interested in your mortal issues, Doctor. What have I told you about your, hm,” he contemplated, un-crossing his arms and waving his hands dismissively. “Sadness. And fear. Nightmares and such.” He paused. “Your weakness.” 
> 
> Flug turned around and swung his legs off the bed, back to Black Hat. “You said I can’t talk to you about them.”
> 
> “Excellent listening skills, Doctor,” the demon responded patronizingly, and quietly clapped his hands together. “Go bother Demencia with all that nonsense.”
> 
> Without another word, Flug stood, walked out the door, and started to close it behind him. 

_BANG!_

The demon’s body spewed out of the reality-traveling device, tumbling over rapidly through the air and hitting the inside of the storage unit door hard enough to nearly fold it in half. He fell to the ground, momentarily disoriented, and looked around. It seemed the damned device hadn’t worked; he was still in the same storage unit he was in when he had entered it. But someone must have come by and closed the unit door; he distinctively recalled having left it open.

He stood up and dusted himself off. The room was nearly pitch black, save for the glowing screen of the Passage to Alternate Realities Device. Using his night vision, he saw that it was smoking around the top, and the screen was a series of codes Black Hat didn’t understand. He reached for the manual he had left open on the floor beside the machine -- to find it wasn’t there. 

He keenly noticed that the box of documents in which he had found the manual still had the lid on it. Slowly, a grin spread up and split his face, terrifying teeth exposed. 

The box wasn’t open because he had never opened it. Because he wasn’t in his universe any more. He had made it to universe F-111.

Back in his own universe, he had sat for hours reading the manual Flug had left for the machine. Running his thumbs over the hand-written notes in the margin. Smiling at the stupid puns the scientist had left. It was an emotional experience for sure, but more so a practical one. He had to learn to operate the device carefully; it was so complicated he was half convinced that going through it without inputting the proper commands would transform him into some writhing, toothy mass in a hat. 

He learned, among other things, that one can only use the PARD to travel to a universe in which identical PARD’s exist, and ones in which analogues to the user do not. Fair enough; Black Hat wouldn’t want to go somewhere where he had to share his role with another Black Hat. This universe, in which the original dark lord had somehow ceased to exist, was a perfect match. The Flug who lived here would be overjoyed to see him for the first time in years; why, he would probably leap right into his arms. Black Hat’s chest swelled at the thought. 

After reading the manual, Black Hat spent another hour making phone calls to transfer his assets to Demencia. He thought she would like that. But she was none too happy about the situation, despite the riches that were coming her way. 

“Please Guapo, we need you here,” she had pleaded. “You don’t understand. You don’t want to be in that universe. It’s not what you think.” 

“Pah!” He scoffed. “And how would _you_ know?” 

“I--” 

“Goodbye, Demencia. I trust you will take very good care of Black Hat Organization. I...lament that we have to part. But I’m needed.”

Black Hat ran his fingers over the dusty top of the box of documents quietly in the dark. Then he remembered: maybe Demencia _could_ know what was happening in this reality, as he had specifically assigned her to watch universe F-111 through the VARD. 

But could he trust her? Surely not; she loved him and would say anything to get him to stay with her. Love makes people do crazy things. 

Black Hat stood and wiped his hands together to get rid of the dust. Now to find his scientist. 

He took hold of the door handle and tried to open it, but it was locked from the outside; anyway the damage it sustained when he was launched into it may have rendered it inoperable. Easy enough; he simply shape-shifted his hands into enormous blades, planted his feet firmly on the ground, and tore through the metal with an ear-splitting _screech._ Black Hat stepped over the bottom of the shredded door and returned to his prim and proper form, looking around. He thought he heard a small “blip” as his feet passed over the threshold but thought nothing of it. 

He took stock of his surroundings; the sun was just starting to peak over the distant mountains and the street lights in the storage row were still on. Most everything looked the same as in his own universe; same buildings, same color. He walked down the row, then stopped to look at the placard to the side of a storage unit, on which the number was written. 

It was only a slight difference, but he narrowed his eyes in confusion when he saw it. A tiny, little, meaningless logo. Normally, each unit was stamped with the BHO logo: a black top hat in a circle. But instead, the circled logo appeared to be a small lizard, possibly a gecko, with angular wings. Like airplane wings.

Curiouser and curiouser. Muffled in the distance, he heard what sounded like people talking angrily, getting closer. He walked to the lobby of the storage facility and contemplated his next move. 

The lobby was open, with bright fluorescent lights, with a few chairs and a vacant registration desk. On the counter was a sign-in sheet, which Black Hat pawed through in search of clues, but he recognized no names. On the top corner was the winged gecko logo again. 

He huffed, having found nothing with which to orient himself in this universe, and turned to leave. He would need information so that he could plan a cautious approach to the scientist. If he just showed up, after being dead, apparently, for however many years, it would surely shock Flug so badly he would risk death all over again. The very idea brought back memories and emotions so dire he could hardly focus. 

> Flug had been on his knees the day he died, one hand on the ground and one gripping his chest. “Please--you have to stop--” he wheezed. Black Hat didn’t actually know what Flug was talking about. The demon had just yelled at his partner and slammed him against a wall, but then he dropped the scientist and wasn’t currently touching him. 
> 
> “Stop _what,_ imbecile?”
> 
> “Stop--squeezing my chest--” That was something Black Hat could do telepathically, but he wasn’t doing it at that moment. 
> 
> “Shut up,” he had barked back. “There’s no need for theatrics.” 
> 
> “Help me, Patron…”
> 
> Black Hat turned with a swoosh of his coattails and stepped out of the lab, seeing his partner wheezing, but alive, for the last time. 
> 
> He knows, he knows, he’s sworn a thousand times. If he could do it again, Black Hat would have listened. He would have! He would do whatever Flug wanted if he got another chance. Give him whatever he needs, no matter how much the demon resents it. He would do anything Flug wanted.
> 
> He’s getting another chance, though. This time, he _will_ put Flug first. _._

The demon snapped out of it as a glint of light caught his eye. Some early morning rays were entering the lobby through a window and bouncing off of a framed picture. He approached and saw that it was not a picture at all, but a TIME magazine behind glass. Folding his arms behind his back, he bent down and inspected it closer. He heard footsteps, but elected to ignore them. 

The magazine showed two figures with crossed arms, standing back to back and looking at the photographer with similar smirks. One of them was instantly recognizable, with red bangs and long, green hair. The arm visible in the picture was more buff than that of the Demencia Black Hat had left in his own reality, and this woman wore a black pleather jacket and pants. Behind her was a slightly taller man in a dark grey suit, blue pocket square and tie, and a silver Cartier watch and band on his ring finger. The suit was tailored and his dark hair was cut short and clean, greying toward the bottom. He stood up straight and looked piercingly at the viewer with ice blue eyes. The prim, professional look was marred, however, with bags under his eyes and three deep, but old, scars across his forehead, eye, and cheek, all running parallel. 

Black Hat gently touched the glass, finally recognizing the man in the magazine. 

_“Darling…”_

The door to the lobby opened and someone spoke. “Sir, you can’t--”

“Shut up!” Black Hat barked, hand still on the glass. 

“Oh my god…” 

Black Hat turned around to see two people in blue security guard uniforms gaping at him. One, a tall woman in braids, spoke quietly to the other. 

“He looks exactly like him!”

“It must be a costume,” the shorter one assured his co-worker, although his pale look betrayed his confidence. His hand unconsciously floated to the taser at his hip. 

“Dude,” the taller one started. “You can’t dress like that, especially around here…”

Black Hat rolled his eye, slightly confused at their reaction. He looked back at the magazine for more clues, as though the two imbeciles were not even there. The caption, he noticed, had the word “POWER” with a lightning strike through it, then, smaller the word --

“Jerry, do you have a direct line to Dr. Flug? Or does our boss? I think you should contact him,” the tall woman murmured. That stopped Black Hat in his tracks, and he put his palms up cordially. 

“No need!” He then took the bottom of his face and pulled it up, as though it was a mask, and shape shifted beneath it to form a non-threatening male human face. He held his old face in his hands as though it was rubber. “See, just a silly costume. I’ll just be on my way!” 

He side-stepped between the two security guards, who were still gaping at the situation, then walked speedily away. As he rounded a corner and made sure he was out of sight, he took two fast steps and launched himself into the air, shifting into the form of a black hawk. 

He caught a breeze and floated on it, thinking back to what he had seen on the TIME magazine, captioning the picture of his assistants. 

Why the hell did it say “POWER COUPLE?”


	5. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Black Hat arrives at Hat Island in universe F-111 and finds Demencia, as well as a few more clues as to what is going on in this universe.

The black hawk soared on winds blown from the salty Atlantic, watching as a dark speck appeared on the horizon. The dark feathers floated effortlessly on the wind, miles of deep sea between him and his point of origin. 

Traveling physical distance was hardly a bother. Not compared with traveling to new realities. Black Hat knew there were quicker, more magical ways of getting to the island, but he decided to go on the feather, sea air in his face, and time to think about his next move. In his mind, he played out different scenarios for how to approach Flug. Like a splitting of universes, Black Hat followed each prospective reveal and considered each potential result. 

He could simply appear in his old office as though nothing had happened, sipping a bourbon and playing old records, until someone walked in on him. Or, he could take over all the screens on the island with a message of returning from beyond the grave. Twirling with a flourish, filling televisions, computers and cellphones with darkness, turning to reveal his unmistakable face, licking his teeth with his forked tongue, monocle glinting. Oh, he could come up with a terrifying laugh for that, to show the whole world that he was back and ready to raise hell. 

But, he had promised that he would consider what Flug wanted. And Lord Black Hat imagined, with all the angst in his black heart, that such a bizarre and shocking gesture wouldn’t be good for Flug’s. 

The feathers on Black Hat’s face ruffled with the wind. The dark speck grew bigger in his sights, and more hat-shaped. With a magical boost, he picked up speed.

Perhaps now wasn’t the time for the reveal, perhaps he should start with some reconnaissance. Besides, he had so many questions about reality F-111 that he had to understand to be successful in his quest, or even to live. Because, apparently, the version of him that lived here originally had somehow died?! When did that become a possibility?

Perhaps a letter to Flug would be a good first step. Black Hat magically manifested a fancy quill pen, inkwell, and parchment paper in front of his beak, telekinetically using them to write something short and simple. 

“Dearest, 

I’m back. Forever. 

Jefecito.” 

That would have to do, for a start. He magically folded the paper over, dropped red wax on it, and imprinted the seal with his tophat insignia. On the flat side, he addressed the letter to “Kenning.” Then he blinked, disappearing the sealed letter into his personal void for safekeeping. 

Finally, Black Hat arrived, wafting gently on a breeze as he slowly observed the island. The bird navigated his home, making a mental note of what had changed. He noticed that there were some larger, modern buildings with impressive glass paneling and manicured gardens on the eastern edge of the island. In the reality he had come from, they were mostly vacant lots with cracked concrete and the occasional dump of sofas and TV’s. They gave their neighborhoods a lot more character than the sanitized office-type buildings that now stood there. There was also a series of docks with boats. An odd addition; something like that would only encourage visitors and escapees. 

The shapeshifter continued to eye the city curiously. The strangest thing was the several dozen people walking around, seemingly without fear, many of them wearing name tags, and some lab coats. These must be some of the scientists who were working under Flug, and their administrative teams. 

Suddenly, a flash of neon green caught Black Hat’s eye. He slowed down, flapping backwards, and extending his talons to perch on a street lamp. As he finally settled onto the metal, he took stock of the woman below. She appeared to have just exited a gym, walking absentmindedly to the curb, misted with a little sweat, wearing black weightlifting gloves, tennis shoes, shorts, and a sports bra. With one hand, she checked her phone, and in another was a duffle bag with “BHO” embroidered onto it. 

_At least the damn company still exists,_ Black Hat sighed. 

Black Hat fluttered effortlessly to the ground and, behind a bush, assumed the form of a black-haired man with a muscled chest and wide chin. He wore a dark grey T-shirt with the BHO logo -- the _real_ logo, he mused. The hat. 

With his new, generally unassuming form, he casually jogged up behind Demencia, who was loitering at the corner just a few paces from the street light. 

“Hey, you looked great in there,” Black Hat offered as he came to stride beside her, as though he had just exited the gym as well. He adapted a new voice, one that wasn’t as gruff, but, he hoped, still irresistible to the woman. 

“Buzz off, Creep,” Demencia replied with just a glance up from her phone. But then she did a double-take, eyeing his shirt. She seemed at a loss for a moment. But surely, thought Black Hat, she wouldn’t be able to resist his charm. 

“You have such raw energy,” he said with a low intonation, raising an eyebrow and extending a hand. Compliments from him would knock her head over heels, even if she didn’t recognize him.

“Who are you?” she asked with a head tilt, looking up at his face, eyes squinting. 

“Emilio Carazanna, at your service,” he offered. He thought he had heard Flug mention someone of that name before, and frankly, it sounded very sexy.

“I don’t think so, Dude,” she turned to walk away. 

“Wait!” he said, gesturing with both hands now. “I have to talk to you about Flug.” 

She looked back suspiciously. “We have agents and hiring managers. If you’re looking to hire us on contract, or get hired, use the website.” 

“I’m not looking for a job, this is about _him._ We have quite the history,” Black Hat responded, smiling broadly. Dem kept a skeptical silence for him to continue, sliding her phone into her back pocket. “We worked together at Black Hat Organization.” 

Demencia scrunched up her face, turning slightly and unconsciously baring her teeth on one side. The sun had set enough that it was just starting to get hard to see. “It’s just ‘BHO,’” she corrected. 

“Ah, yes, of course,” he responded, even though he had no idea what she meant by that. She turned one of her feet in the opposite direction. 

  
“We had a very _intimate_ relationship, you see,” he tried, one arm folded politely behind his back. The street lamp flickered on above them in response to the increasing darkness. “He would certainly be thrilled to see me again. Perhaps too thrilled; tell me, how is the good scientist’s heart?” 

Demencia’s eyes widened for a moment at the stranger who knew too much, then turned subtly to the side. She shifted the gym bag on her shoulder and unzipped it as Black Hat waited for a response. Then the lizard woman pulled off her gloves, tossing them into her open bag with other clothing and smirking. 

“Mine,” she deadpanned, shoving her right hand in a pocket and waving the fingers of her left in front of her face. A silver band on her ring finger sparkled under the yellow light. Black Hat swallowed. 

“Of course...could I ask you to please deliver this to him, at least?” He asked, and put his hand in his pocket to surreptitiously manifest the letter he had written earlier. He handed the old parchment with a red, wax seal to Demencia; it looked terribly out of place coming from a man in casual gym clothes. She hardly looked at it as she tossed it into her gym back and zipped it up. 

“Alright, I’ll bring this to him.” With that, a dark car pulled up to the curb, a door opening automatically. With a quick greeting to the driver, and no such “goodbye” to the stranger who knew so much, she stepped inside and shut the door behind her. 

Black Hat watched the car drive into the evening, imagining Flug reading the letter. Clutching his mouth, crying out with joy. The demon supposed he’d just have to wait patiently for something else to happen. He could find Flug tomorrow and talk to him in disguise until the scientist figured out who he really was. Nice and easy. 

He paced under the streetlamp, light covering his body, eyes down. Yes. Wait. Patiently. Flug was probably at the manor now, expecting nothing. Maybe he was standing over the island counter in the kitchen, chopping carrots for dinner with his bony but exquisitely dexterous fingers. With 505 standing across from him, the cook lovingly tossing extra food into the bear’s mouth. Laughing that dorky, excited laugh when 505 catches a dozen pieces in surprisingly rapid succession. 

Maybe the scientist was finishing an advertisement, gesturing wildly at Cambot, his quick voice explaining with deadly seriousness the devastation his devices could cause. One arm behind his back, the other holding some sort of gun calmly, light reflecting in his goggles. 

Maybe he was simply stepping into the shower, his mask on a hook, throwing his clothes on the floor. The shirt he had worn for three days straight, deeply marked with the scientist’s unique scent. He’d be turning on the faucet with no self-consciousness, scars and all on full display. Water and soap flowing over his collar bones. His bare chest. His hips. 

While Black Hat waited here, under a street lamp. Pacing. Waiting. 

_Fuck it,_ he snapped, turning again into a hawk and bolting through the night in the direction of Hat Manor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BHO now stands for Big Hairy Orangutans


	6. Entrance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Black Hat finds a few clues in the manor.

Inside the manor at last, Black Hat found himself surrounded by treasure. Not the treasure gained from years of plundering riches, not the international relics of incalculable value, not the finest art an eldritch demon could commission. To a man of such a singular goal, these items he had so successfully surmounted held little value. 

No, the treasures Black Hat so excitedly sought and found in the manor were all the little items that Flug had touched, used, and made. Each one told a story. Black Hat went straight to the lab and admired the new blueprints on the wall, grazed the wrenches and a soldering iron on the workbench with his fingers, and carefully inspected the strange, circular device that had been carelessly left on the desk. He lifted the “World’s Best Pilot” mug, with a few sips left of cold coffee, revealing a brown ring on the table underneath. He touched the handle where it had chipped, years ago, when a startled Flug accidentally knocked it off the desk. A memory written in ceramic.

But experiencing Flug’s memento wasn't Black Hat’s only goal when he entered the house. He was also gathering intel. He had to know this: 

_How had the Black Hat of this dimension died?_

He knew that there were some ways to kill him, and boy did he have enemies. He wondered if the Men Without Hats had somehow succeeded. But if they had, would they not have started with his weaker henchmen, taking down 505, Flug and Demencia first? Did anyone in this universe even know how he had died?

Turning invisible to evade security, Black Hat ascended the stairs and pushed open the door to his old office. It had been completely redecorated, with only his original red oak desk and some wall sconces remaining. On the desk was some stationary with that stupid winged gecko logo. The walls were off-white and it was furnished with some awfully boring file cabinets, a navy couch, and framed certificates and degrees. 

The bookshelf on which Black Hat kept his records there were, instead, books. Between an expensive-looking model plane and several awards from the Atreno Academy for the Advancement of Sciences, the demon looked through the catalogue of books. There were dissertations, books on strength training, parenting, cognitive behavioral therapy, and explosives. 

Then, on the bottom right corner of the bookshelf, he found several inches of red-bordered magazines. Black Hat looked over his shoulder and carefully pulled one out. It was the TIME magazine he had seen at the storage facility, with Flug and Dem on the cover. 

Black Hat anxiously flipped to the centerfold where he saw dramatic, posed photos of his three henchmen on dark backgrounds. The headline: “What is BHO without BH?: After the Mysterious Disappearance of the Infamous Demon, These Former Lackeys Took the Reins and Changed the World.” The caption below 505 read “The Lovable Scamp.” Below Dem, “Agent of Chaos.” Below Flug, “Killer Boss.” 

Hopefully, the article would explain to Black Hat exactly what happened, and the situation there in universe F-111. He really should have waited for a report from his own Demencia. 

Just as he started to turn the page to start reading the text, he heard footsteps in the hall. The demon frantically shoved the magazine back in place and stood up straight, ensuring that he was still invisible as the door to the office opened. 

A skinny man in pajama pants and burgundy T-shirt strolled in casually. Black Hat knew the scent immediately. It took all his self-control not to bolt to the door and grab the man in his unyielding embrace. 

This was the first time in years Black Hat saw his lover in the flesh.


	7. Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Black Hat stalks in the night.

How momentous an occasion, the lovers from across the multiverse finally reunited. An eldritch being, unmatched in power, veins pumping full of desire for the mere mortal of incomparable intelligence before him. After years of loneliness, Black Hat had skirted the laws of life and death and found Flug in the flesh. 

However, they did not dash into each other’s arms, their eyes and lips did not lock. Black Hat was still invisible, and Flug did not know he was there. So he strode into the office as though the very fabric of reality had not been thwarted by a magnificent monster, and the oblivious scientist yawned and scratched his butt. 

Flug pulled out the chair and sat down with a plop, opening the laptop and signing in with a retinal scan. Black Hat silently approached behind him, resisting intense urges to touch the scientist. To hold him, to protect him, even though there wasn’t much to protect him from. 

Stalker? Black Hat's been called worse. 

He _is_ worse. 

He certainly looked different than he did five years ago. He walked more briskly, and it seemed his movements were more natural and less calculated. His shoulders and forearms had filled out nicely; he was still comparably skinny but Black hat could see his modest arm muscles were toned. The scientist clacked away at the laptop, sending emails and reviewing receipts.

But he was the same man, no doubt about it. He smelled the same. Black Hat leaned forward and took a deep whiff, trapping the aromatic musk in what functioned as his nose. 

Again, he breathed deeply. Then again. After the third inhale, he was leaning close enough that he accidentally breathed a little too close to the scientist’s neck. 

Suddenly, Flug swung around, with some sort of small, circular device in his hand, as Black Hat stepped back in surprise. The device looked similar to the one he had left on his work table, but now Black Hat could see it included a trigger on the bottom, one on which Flug had his finger. 

Black Hat retreated silently while Flug searched the room for the invisible intruder. Oh, how Black Hat desired to reassure the scientist so he wouldn’t be scared. To hold him and tell him everything would be alright. 

But Black hat was frozen, gazing into the eyes of the man he so rarely saw without a mask. He was so much more beautiful without it, and, for that matter, much more handsome alive than as a skull. The flitting of his eyes, his little snarl, his shaking hand as he held up the threatening device.

_It was only a little breath_ , Black Hat thought. _Surely he doesn’t really know I’m here._

And, as though on queue, Flug squinted, closed the laptop, and pushed out his chair. Still holding the small circular gun, angling it to the different corners of the room, he picked up the laptop and fled. 

Black Hat glided behind him, staying a few paces further away, as the pair traveled through the manor. He noticed that Flug walked briskly past a set of deep grey doors that was once Black Hat’s bedroom. He stopped and, when Flug was out of sight, opened the door slightly to peek in. 

It was dark. The curtains were drawn. The bed was gone, replaced by little more than piles of dusty boxes. 

Curious. 

____________________

Demencia turned off the main light so the bedroom was illuminated only by the reading lamp on Flug’s night stand. The scientist was working on his laptop in bed as the lizard girl, clad in booty shorts and an oversized ACDC shirt, sidled up beside him. 

“Did you meet with Dark Phantom today?” she asked idly. 

“Hm?” Flug closed his laptop and put it on the night stand, along with his glasses. “Oh, yes. I hadn’t seen him for a while. He flinched when I went to shake his hand. Has he always been so skittish?” 

“Well, you just hadn’t seen him since the incident,” Dem offered. 

“So he lost confidence because of that?” Flug asked. “He wasn’t even involved.”

“Well,” Demencia explained. “He didn’t lose confidence, he’s probably just afraid of you, now that everyone knows what you’re capable of.” 

Flug blinked. “Are a lot of people afraid of me because of that?” 

“‘Course they are, Guapo,” Dem responded, leaning in and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Now you’re a force to be reckoned with. Don’t tell me you don’t love it.” 

Flug let out a short laugh. “I do.” 

Black Hat stood at the foot of the bed, arms folded behind his back, increasingly eager to reveal himself, but still finding the time was wrong. The couple continued with idle conversation, Flug occasionally glancing around the room nervously. 

Finally, he hit the light, and curled up to sleep facing the wall. Demencia was behind him with one arm under her head and the other around his waist, a gentle spoon. Soon, their breaths evened out and the couple fell asleep. 

Black Hat watched patiently for hours. Occasionally, Flug’s face would twitch, and his eyes would dart under his closed eyelids. 

The demon wondered what Flug could be dreaming. 

But, as he reached his claws out towards his precious scientist, he knew he wouldn’t have to wonder for long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has everyone figured out what happened yet? Maybe it's too obvious.


	8. Exit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter except the epilogue! Black Hat goes into Flug's dream and finds his answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brings in some of my other fics! You don’t need to read them to follow the story, but you can if you want some extra context and angst! Chapter 4 of this fic is what Flug sees in his dream: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20252854/chapters/48002002 
> 
> And here’s Dem comforting him about it: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21077564

It was seven years ago, and Flug really should have gotten over it by now. The incident had happened after the scientist had presented the Visions of Alternate Realities Device to Black Hat, and before, in one reality, he had died. 

Black Hat watched anxiously inside Flug’s dream as the human played a memory the demon loathed to recognize. 

Tentacles held 505 against a wall behind the back of Dream-Black Hat, whose eyes and hands and attention were all on Flug. As they should be, always, but not like this. 

In the memory, Dream-Black Hat had become enraged at some inconsequential deadline, and struck Flug repeatedly in the gut. The scientist was already cradling a broken wrist, his bag was torn and his face was bleeding. 

The demon who was intruding on the dream cursed Flug for focusing on such a painful memory. Why isn’t he dreaming of the week before, when they enjoyed a night of ketamine, smashing mailboxes, and passionate sex? Or even just one of the many times they had simply executed business decisions or talked shop in peaceful co-existence? Why did humans focus for so long on occasions of violence, when incidents of this magnitude only happened a handful of times? 

But Black Hat remembered this night well too. In the morning, he hadn’t apologized. 

The occasion, Black Hat realized, was more significant than he had originally anticipated. The broken wrist had led to slower work as it healed. That led to missed deadlines and a lost business contract, which led to more anger from Black Hat, and a long four months of Flug avoiding him as much as possible. He couldn’t even be tempted with Black Hat’s offerings of otherworldly creatures for study, fancy bourbon, or midnight trysts. Instead, all Flug offered was mediocre handiwork, chewed pencils, untouched meals, broken mugs, and averted gazes. More withdrawals, more symptoms of stress. Heart palpitations. A cardiologist’s prescription. 

Eventually, the pair had returned to being a couple. They still loved each other, after all, and weren’t about to break up their powerful work relationship, either. Flug slowly returned to producing incredible inventions that wowed the world of villainy. But after so much time, something had changed irreparably between them. Black Hat never again saw the look — _that look —_ again. 

The demon watched as the dream version of himself held Flug by the neck. His instincts to protect the doctor were overwhelming, rising up in his chest like a wild beast at each choked noise. 

He thought he heard the gentle sound of a woman’s voice, but ignored it, captivated. 

How things could have been different had it not been for the night Black Hat lost his temper and hurt the man he swore to protect. Or, if it had ended differently. Yes, this was a pivotal night in the fates of them both. At that thought, there was the sensation of a light touch on his shoulder, which he shrugged off. 

The demon widened his eye as the onslaught continued. Could this have been the pivot point? The knife’s edge on which the two realities balanced? One timeline following a path in which Flug died, the other, in which Black Hat died? He watched intently for any difference in the memory of this universe’s Flug and how it had happened in Black Hat’s own universe. 

The terror in Flug’s voice raised to a pitch, and the vision flickered. The action slowed. The details faded. Black Hat could feel something pressing at his shoulder. Flug was being awakened. 

In a hurry, Black Hat retreated from the dream, contorting into an invisible mist and escaping Flug’s mind to manifest again and watch from the outside. 

As he finished assembling himself, unseen, at the foot of the bed. Flug was curled up with his back to Demencia, who was rubbing gentle circles on his arm. For the first time, Black Hat was intensely jealous of her. 

The demon watched the conversation as Flug and Dem got up and stood at the window. Flug stuttered, unsure, wringing his hands. Dem comforted and reassured him. 

This, Black Hat thought, is the bond he missed out on all those times he sent an emotional Flug into Demencia’s arms. 

It’s also the bond he _forged_ by sending him to her. 

Silently, the invisible Black Hat glided behind them, raising an antennae at their conversation. Flug was apologizing to Demencia. 

“I know you loved him,” Flug said, wringing his hands. They must be speaking of the late Black Hat.

“That doesn’t matter now.” 

Flug continued slowly. “...I hope you don’t hate me for...what happened to him…” 

_What HAD happened, damnit!_ Black Hat thought, furiously searching their conversation for meaning as they went back and forth, talking about their past and intentions.

“I wanted to kill whoever was responsible,” Demencia said. “But when I found out it was you…”

Black Hat stopped. The gears in his mind were turning. He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t want to believe it. It didn’t make any sense. 

But then again, it made perfect sense. The reaction of the security guards at the storage facility when they saw Black Hat’s devilish form. Flug’s “Killer CEO” moniker. The replacement of all the hat logos. 

Black Hat was never around to cause Flug’s death in this reality because Flug had killed Black Hat first. 

The monster stepped back and put his hands on his head. Then he ran towards the window and phased through it, flying like a ghost and manifesting in the yard. He sat under the old oak and tried to contain himself. This was where he had buried Flug in his own reality. 

In this one, he didn’t see anything dedicated to his late analogue. No gravestone or plaque. No roses or candle-lit shrine. They didn’t want to remember him. Memories of Black Hat only caused his two henchmen anguish. 

Black Hat looked up at the full moon and snarled. He had given up everything, crossed the multiverse for the man he loved, but this man wanted _nothing to do with him!_ Flug had _murdered him!_

The man he loved. Loved. Had endless passion for. Monitored. Controlled. Exhumed.

The man who he helped climb to celebrity status in the worldwide villain community. The man whose life-saving medicine he threw away. Who he terrorized, and lavished, and attacked, and cared for. 

Who he scared the life out of. 

Black Hat wasn’t wanted here, he thought in anguish. 

There was no reason for him to stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a short epilogue but that's it! Please give me a little feedback, I would love to improve my writing skills.


	9. Epilogue

“Hey Pachoncito?” Flug asked as he entered the kitchen, eyes searching. The bear was chopping carrots.

“Yes, Dad?” 505 responded in the almost completely human language he had learned with the help of some dedicated teaching and a dash of bioengineering. 

“Have you seen my burgundy shirt? I thought it should be out of the laundry by now.” 

“Oh, that smelly old thing? Sorry, I didn’t see it in the hamper at all. But I’m sure you’ll find it, you wear it all the time. Oh, but I did find something for you in Dem’s gym clothes.”

The bear put down the knife and wiped his paws on his apron as he walked to a drawer of miscellaneous kitchen items. He opened it and pulled out a folded piece of parchment with a red wax seal on it. “It’s got your name on it.” 

Flug took the letter carefully. He examined the wax seal and sat at a kitchen stool, swallowing. With a shaking hand, he thumbed the paper open, breaking the seal. 

505 watched curiously as his creator focused on the paper. Flug blinked as he unfolded it, and read it in silence. 

When the scientist was finished, he dropped the paper on the ground, and clutched his heart. 


End file.
